


Red Silk

by BawdyBean, bookscorpion



Series: The World of Us [11]
Category: Shadowrun, Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Eskel, Jock Straps, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Rimming, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:54:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26428204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BawdyBean/pseuds/BawdyBean, https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscorpion/pseuds/bookscorpion
Summary: “Tha’s it?” A small wedge of the thinnest red material with a few thick belts of black stares up from the bed in the lighthouse at Eskel. It doesn’t look like any pair of braies Eskel has ever seen.Rhys gives Eskel a jock strap as a gift. Shameless smut ensues.
Relationships: Eskel (The Witcher)/Rhys Morgan
Series: The World of Us [11]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612003
Comments: 9
Kudos: 10
Collections: Witcher Rarepair Discord Collection





	Red Silk

“Tha’s it?” A small wedge of the thinnest red material with a few thick belts of black stares up from the bed in the lighthouse at Eskel. It doesn’t look like any pair of braies Eskel has ever seen. Or even the boxer briefs Rhys has taken to buying for him here in London and Wales. It doesn’t even look big enough to plug an arrow wound with.

Rhys is making a point of peeling himself out of his clothes as indifferently as he can on the other side of the bed— Eskel has taken note. He is still staring distractedly at the small red triangle, and straps that don’t seem big enough to go around his wide hips when Rhys’ chest is pressed into his back. Smooth hands glide up his sides and rest over his chest, and Eskel also takes note of Rhys' restraint in _not_ rubbing at the barbells studded through his nipples. They pebble up under the touch anyway. Always so sensitive.

The prick of fangs sets lightly against Eskel’s shoulder and he suppresses a shiver. Rhys is up to something.

“Why don’t you touch it? See if you like how it feels.” Eskel smirks. Of course, Rhys is up to something.

He reaches down anyway and takes the fabric in his hand, Rhys’ palms sliding on his sensitive chest with the motion. Standing upright again, Eskel rubs the silky slip between his thumb and forefinger. An automatic sigh escapes his nose, even with his mouth resolutely shut.

It feels _good_. Slick and cool. Smooth, liquid and solid at once, and he has to admit the thought of it against his cock and balls is— he doesn’t know. Silk is something you wrap treasure in, reserved for royals. He once bought Geralt spidersilk braies. A gift born of love. And suddenly Eskel wants to wear these. Tiny and ridiculous as they are.

“How’d I even put these on?” Eskel’s voice is warm when it leaves his throat. Rhys always gives him the best gifts. And a nap in these sounds _divine_ right now.

Rhys wastes no time in guiding Eskel’s hands, dropping the silk and elastic jockstrap to the floor. With little prompting Eskel steps into it and Rhys shimmies it up his legs. The silk cups his cock like Rhys’ hands had his chest, and Eskel takes in a sharp lungful of air, scented with little bits of his and Rhys’ arousal.

Fingers slip under the black and deep gray striped elastic bands and trace them smooth against the skin of Eskel’s ass, right at the top of his thighs. They are tight. Not so tight they are uncomfortable, but Eskel is reminded a bit of the ropes when Rhys ties him up. 

With a pat on Eskel's ass Rhys shoos him into the bed. “Come nap with me. Enjoy your gift.”

Eskel goes easily. Under the soft comforter, with Rhys warm and smooth against his back, Eskel adjusts his cock and balls in the silky slick pouch and curls up into a spoon. And he does feel treasured.

***

Waking up, Rhys nestles into Eskel and lies for a while, content to enjoy the warmth and closeness a little longer. Eskel is already awake and squirming a little in Rhys' arms, but he settles down again quickly.

Too excited to wait any longer, Rhys lets his hand drift down over Eskel's flank to his ass, petting it and tracing the bands of the jockstrap. He reaches around to ghost his fingers over Eskel's cock and finds it hard. The touch draws a choked moan from Eskel, and Rhys rolls out of bed. It leaves Eskel already visibly frustrated as he turns over to look at Rhys. 

"Where are you goin?" Eskel doesn't whine, but he clearly thinks that the only acceptable place for Rhys to be is in bed. With him.

"I need something to drink." Rhys has very carefully removed any water bottles they usually keep up here. "You can keep me company." 

He starts walking toward the stairs, not bothering to dress in more than his boxers, and Eskel scrambles after him. Right in front of the stairs, Rhys turns back, makes a quick detour to grab a shirt. It puts Eskel in front of him, and Rhys enjoys the view of his ass. He also enjoys Eskel trying to surreptitiously adjust the jockstrap so he won't get teased quite as hard by his own underwear. Rhys doesn't think it's very successful and relishes the deep pink flush rising from Eskel's back and shoulders up his neck. 

At the foot of the stairs, Rhys grabs Eskel's ass for a quick squeeze. "Would you like a glass of juice?"

***

This is alright. Not that big of a deal. Eskel can wait if Rhys wants him too. That's what Eskel tells himself as he drags himself out of the warm confines of their bed to follow Rhys to the kitchen.

Except Rhys somehow ends up behind him on the stairs. And that's— well fuck, Eskel can feel the weight of Rhys’ eyes on his ass— unsettling to say the least.

Eskel doesn't have a _bad_ ass, and he knows it. Knows Rhys enjoys the view of it stalking across the room naked. He keeps in shape and it's definitely his better side.

Now it's framed. The tight bands hold his ass cheeks snug, lifting them up and putting them on full display for Rhys' hungry gaze. Eskel is hyperconscious of every step and the way it makes his ass jump inside the new underwear. 

How completely _open_ it is, and he realizes Rhys could fuck him without ever taking these off. It makes Eskel's heart jump into his throat.

Worse still is the way the steps cause the head of his hard cock to nudge the silk that holds it tight. The way he's settled into it rubs his slit against the fabric with every move. Eskel takes ahold of himself on the stairs to readjust, holding in his noises as he shifts his cock to lay up instead.

A few steps more and Eskel discovers this is just a new way to torture himself. Now the silk glides smoothly across every bit of his balls and caresses the underside of his cock with a gentle touch.

By the bottom of the staircase Eskel has slowed and the air around him is very hot considering how little he is wearing. The fast grab to his ass startles a low noise out of Eskel and he watches Rhys breeze easily by him. Bastard.

"Yeah. I'd like some juice." Eskel tries to slow himself down. Swallows thickly. He's sure they have entered a game of cat and mouse now and he needs to save his energy.

Rhys is drinking slowly and the bob of his throat is mesmerizing to Eskel. Getting in close he leans into Rhys and presses his hard cock to Rhys hip and thigh, one hand pressed to Rhys' back. 

Honesty strikes Eskel hard and he speaks before he thinks. "I like these." His hips rock gently into the side of Rhys' before he catches himself and draws back. "Juice?"

***

Rhys passes Eskel a filled glass with juice, leaning into him quite by accident, his thigh pressing into Eskel's cock. "Here you go. I'm glad you like it because I most certainly do."

Leaning back against the counter, Rhys sips his own juice and watches Eskel. The flush has deepened and there's a light sheen of sweat on his skin. His nipples are hard, the barbells bringing them forward even more and Rhys wants to give them a light flick. Wants to run his hands up Eskel's inner thighs and smooth the silk over his cock. Wants to grab Eskel and bend him over the kitchen table, already emptied of anything remotely breakable.

Rhys does none of these things. Instead, he waits until Eskel has put down his glass and then traps him against the counter. Leaning on the it with a hand to either side of Eskel, Rhys noses at his neck. His thigh parts Eskel's and rubs lightly against him. It's just enough pressure to move the fabric of the jockstrap between them. 

Eskel's moan is almost shockingly loud. Rhys moves back so he can lick at Eskel's nipples, tug on the barbells with his lips. His hands slide down Eskel's back to his ass and he pulls Eskel flush against himself, grinding their cocks together just for a moment.

Letting him go, Rhys picks up his glass again like nothing happened. "I think we left the lube in the basket under the coffee table? Would you go check?"

He knows that it's there. He put it into the basket, making sure Eskel has to give him a good view of his ass while he retrieves it.

***

Eskel is dying. His cock is achingly hard and the silk is the softest sweetest touch on it. He wants Rhys’ hand back, pressing into him like he did upstairs and all the bastard is going to do is _tease_ him with the promise of a fuck. Maybe.

It’s not enough.

Speed and desperation get the better of his senses for a moment and Eskel darts out grabbing Rhys’ hand anyway. He presses it right up to his hard cock and squeezes his own over it in a sad mimicry of what he wants.

Growling, Eskel pulls Rhys forward by the back of the neck and rests their foreheads together for a moment. “If I get that, you’d better fuck me like it was worth it.”

Before Rhys can pull away, Eskel lets him go. Stalks out of the kitchen and into the living room, squatting down between the couch and the coffee table to pull out the basket. It opens everything up, and Eskel wants to _whine_.

He is so completely vulnerable at the moment. Rhys could come up behind him and tip him forward, finger him, fuck him—anything. There is nothing there to stop him. Balls held up and hole exposed beneath him.

Taking a moment to breathe, Eskel finds literally nothing in the basket except a bottle of lube and wants to cry with laughter at this game. Giddy, Eskel is overcome by something that never sweeps over him. If Rhys isn’t going to give him relief right _now_ he can just fix it himself. 

Arm braced on the couch, Eskel leans forward, uncaring if Rhys gets a full view. If he does, the bratty bastard deserves to be teased. He slides his left hand over the silky pouch strained by his cock and barely, just barely, keeps in a moan. All shame gone with his desperation, Eskel slips a single dry finger back to rub over his pucker.

And then he does moan.

“Fuck. That’s good.” It makes his spine tight, and Eskel rocks his ass into it, circling it gently. His trapped cock grazes his forearm and that’s good too, leaving him gasping. Deep inside he wants it to be Rhys touching him here, making him feel this.

“Please. Jus’ make me yours.” The words are breathless when they run out of Eskel’s open mouth and across his forearm. “I need you, Rhys. Please.”

***

Rhys has followed Eskel as far as the door to the living room so he doesn't miss the show. He is not disappointed. In fact, he stares open mouthed at Eskel touching himself. Barely believes his ears at hearing Eskel begging like this, already desperate.

The sight of Eskel is gorgeous. Ass on display, leg muscles quivering the slightest bit, his whole body rocking gently with the deep breaths he takes. The needy tone of his voice goes directly to Rhys' cock.

"Come here. Don't forget the lube." Rhys can't help teasing with words, even though it's obvious nothing would make Eskel part with the lube right now.

Nothing, except Rhys holding out his hand. 

Eskel looks at him, sleep-tousled hair falling into his eyes. His pupils are already wide and black, the deep honey gold only a bright corona around them. With a grin, Rhys moves to grab Eskel, spins him around and marches him the two steps to the kitchen table. One hand between Eskel's shoulder blades, Rhys makes him bend over, moves his legs apart with the other hand.

Slowly, he trails his fingers up Eskel's thigh, barely touching. He rubs his fingertips over the silk, Eskel's cock hot and hard under it. Both hands grabbing Eskel's ass, Rhys gives it a hard squeeze and pulls the cheeks apart. 

"Hold your ass open for me. You'll get what you want." When Eskel obeys, fingers digging into his own skin, Rhys hunkers down behind him and circles Eskel's hole with his tongue. He probes at it, licks and carefully nibbles at it until it it relaxed enough to fuck the tip of his tongue into it. Reaching forward, he fondles Eskel's balls and his cock through the silk, tender and light touches.

***

“Ffu-” The word is lost in the air rushing out of Eskel’s lungs in a guttural grunt, “nnh, yes. Like that. There.” Eskel pants out his demands, made rash by the pent up need building since he woke.

Chest lifting up and falling back onto the table, Eskel rumbles out a groan when his nipples are dragged on the table top. They are already tight and the cold kiss of the smooth surface teases them as mercilessly as Rhys every time Eskel rocks back into his mouth.

“Melitele. Yes, lemme feel it.” Vaguely Eskel is aware of how he sounds but he can’t find it in himself to care right now. He just _wants_. Rhys is playing him like a fiddle and it is fulfilling Eskel’s every need. 

Cock drooling in the silk, Eskel rolls his hips gently into Rhys’ hand, then back onto his tongue again. It drives a shudder out of Eskel and he pushes down the urge to let go of his own ass and hold onto Rhys’ head, to show him exactly what he wants. After a few more needy attempts to get Rhys deeper, Eskel gives a muffled moan.

“Gimme your shirt. Wanna smell you in my nose with your cock in my ass.” It is far less a request and much more an order and yet in no time at all Rhys’ shirt passes over Eskel’s head. He takes only a moment to shove it in his face before returning his hand to his ass, spreading it wide again for Rhys.

The smell of cardamom and incense fills Eskel’s nose and he lets out a low needy whine. Eyes closed and mind spinning, the sensations sweep over Eskel. Every touch to his ass is amplified a hundredfold, the silk caressing his cock like a hand, his precum cooling where it has dirtied the gorgeous red fabric.

***

Rhys knows exactly what Eskel wants from him but he stays on his knees. Pushing his tongue into Eskel's hole as far as he can, he circles one finger around the head of Eskel's cock where it's trapped behind the fabric. The wet spot grows larger and a moan shudders through Eskel. Under Rhys' other hand, Eskel's thigh is quivering, and the table gives a creak when Eskel rocks back into it.

Stopping just long enough to drop his boxers, Rhys clicks the lube open and spreads some on his fingers. He comes to stand behind Eskel and holds him down with one hand between his shoulder blades. Two fingers slide easily into Eskel's ass and Rhys wastes no time in setting a slow, forceful rhythm. 

"Touch yourself. I want to see you come before you get my cock." Rhys watches Eskel intently, eager and unwilling to miss even the slightest expression of open need and want on his face. "You're so gorgeous like this, all desperate and begging for me."

***

The disappointment of not getting fucked right this moment is set aside by the icy tingle Rhys’ fingers leave washing down Eskel's thighs, and the explicit permission to touch himself. One arm curls around Rhys' shirt, pulling it in tighter to Eskel's face. He wants to suffocate in the scent. The other hand drops from his ass to his cock, fingertips scratching lightly up the straining shaft.

Eskel lets out an absolutely lewd moan. Palms his cock through the silk. "You wanna watch me touch m'self?" The idea rips through Eskel hotly and leaves him breathless. Fingers pressing into the base of his ballsac he keens into the shirt and bites down on it.

Gripping his cock lightly Eskel strokes it with the fabric sliding slick between his hand and his cock. It makes his hips jerk roughly and presses Rhys’ fingers into that spot that makes him see stars even with his eyes closed. He is speared right through—fingers in his ass and hand holding him down—knowing he's going to fall for Rhys and unable to stop it.

Eskel's legs shake. He thumbs the head of his cock through the silk, pushing the soft fabric against his slit and suddenly hot wetness spreads under his thumb. Eskel is out of air, out of time, out of his mind. The moment crashes over him so unexpectedly a feral growl rips out of his chest through his clench teeth, his body tightening its hold on everything.

Rhys’ shirt in his teeth. Rhys' fingers in his ass. Eskel’s own cock in his hand, the wet stain spreading down the fabric under his hand.

***

Fucking Eskel right through his orgasm, Rhys leaves him to shudder and gasp for air with Rhys' fingers in his ass. He trails his hand down Eskel's spine and up again, softly petting his hair. It falls in sweaty curls at the back of Eskel's neck, and Rhys brushes a few strands out of Eskel's face.

He leans forward to kiss Eskel under the ear and along his jaw, murmuring praise to him. "Look at you, so needy for me, and so fucked out. But we're not done. _I'm_ not done."

For a moment, he lets go of Eskel completely, but only as long as it takes to slick up his own cock. Setting the head against Eskel's hole, Rhys pushes into him in one slow thrust. Eskel's body clamps down on him hard and it forces a breathless groan from Eskel. 

Rhys grabs Eskel's wrists, one after the other, twisting his arms on his back until he can hold both wrists in one hand. The position doesn't put any strain on Eskel's arms, and he could free himself easily, but that's not what this is about. It's just a hint at what Rhys _could_ do. 

With his other arm, Rhys pulls Eskel up into a standing position, back against Rhys' chest and arms trapped between them. It causes Rhys' cock to slip out halfway and he rolls his hips to fuck himself back into Eskel. Setting his fangs against Eskel's shoulder, Rhys gives a low growl, lets it vibrate through his chest. 

"You're going to come for me again." It's not a question. He leaves Eskel struggling to support his own weight and to balance between Rhys' slow and gentle thrusts into him and having to stay upright. His fingers tug on the barbells, give small flicks to them, and circle around Eskel's nipples.

***

Drunk on sex, Rhys’ cock spreading his ass slowly open in its wake Eskel lets out a bone deep moan of relief. Finally. This is what he needed. Fuck that it’s too late.

The whole position is tippy. Eskel is going to fall over at any moment and it drives home how drunk he is on all of this. Arching his back pushes his chest into Rhys’ hands, and it is _almost_ too much. Whining and huffing Eskel lets his head loll onto Rhys’ shoulder. Turns his head to Rhys’ neck.

“I’ll do anythin’ you want me to.” The bend in his spine and the way his legs are spread makes his ass cheeks squeeze tight on Rhys’ cock as it rolls slowly in and out of his hole and leaves Eskel’s ass throbbing. “Jus’ don’ stop fuckin’ me like ‘m... yours.” He wants to call himself Rhys’ slut. He feels like a slut for Rhys’ cock right now. He’d have done anything to get it. But the words are too much to say.

Eskel’s cock is still soft but it isn’t going to be for long, he can tell. The fire in his gut hasn’t dimmed at all, and Rhys’ hard cock in his ass is only stoking it higher. He’s trapped, helpless at Rhys’ whims and it _does_ things to him. Things he never looks too hard at.

***

Rhys bites down on Eskel's shoulder, hard enough to leave dents in the skin that go from white to red. Crowding into Eskel, he pushes him forward. It upsets what little balance Eskel has but Rhys catches him with one arm across his chest.

Once Eskel is bent over the table again, Rhys uses both hands to hold his arms on his back, puts some of his weight into it. Now, Eskel would have to fight for real to escape the hold. Or say his word, but that is not what this illusion of control is about. 

Rolling his hips, Rhys fucks into Eskel and moans when his cock gets squeezed. Eskel is tight around him, clamps down on him in slow long pulses. It drives Rhys higher, spurs him to a faster pace. Grabbing Eskel's arms tighter, Rhys pulls him back onto his cock, pushes him forward against the table.

***

Long low noises roll out of Eskel every time he is pulled back onto Rhys’ cock. It fills him up perfectly and he can’t hide his satisfaction—doesn’t want to. _This_. This is what he _wanted_ so badly from the moment Rhys sent him to fetch that stupidly stashed lube.

Eskel lets himself be limp. Depends on Rhys’ strength to move him back onto that sweet pleasure. It crawls back up his spine, makes his head tingle. Eskel doesn’t mind at all that it leaves him on his tiptoes. Rhys has him and he knows it. His shoulder still aches warmly where Rhys’ fangs sat. There is no mark, Eskel knows, but it's there in his mind all the same. A tantalizing reminder of all the controlled strength behind him, fucking into him in sweet long strokes.

“Gonna fill me up? Make me smell like you?” Just saying the words makes Eskel’s cock jump with renewed excitement in the underwear. He can smell Rhys’ arousal strongly now, the shirt long since pushed away, and the thought of that smell up inside of him thrills Eskel.

Every pull drags Eskel’s body over the head of Rhys’ cock. Rubbing it against his prostate in the most maddening way. And even only half hard Eskel can feel the pressure building behind his balls. Deeper inside than when he strokes himself off. Without any conscious effort from Eskel his body milks Rhys and it is glorious. The pressure inside him pushing back on the firmness of Rhys’ cock. 

“Make me smell like _us_.” Breathless words, slow and lazy, roll off Eskel’s tongue and set him off. The idea too much to contain. “Fuck!” Rhythmic and hard, he clenches down on Rhys through another orgasm, half hard cock spilling in the silk again.

Now it is too much, but Eskel bites his lip and moans through it. The silk is rough and wet and sticky on his cock. The table is hard and cold under his chest, his nipples _ache_ with every contact. But still he wants Rhys to finish this. Legs shaking and sounds barely held in, Eskel breathes heavily through his nose and tries to still his mind.

***

Rhys cries out, his cock driving into Eskel's tight ass over and over again. Eskel slumps in his grip, his breath coming in loud gasps, shuddering hard.

It doesn't take long for the wave of pleasure to build and crash over Rhys. At the last moment, he pulls out and comes all over Eskel's ass and back. He lets go of Eskel's arms and slumps forward, letting his weight rest on top of Eskel for a bit, nosing between his shoulder blades.

"-was 'mazing. Thank you." The words are no more than a mumble, and Rhys breathes in their scent of sweat and sex. He stands and sees Eskel's legs buckle. In a quick movement, Rhys scoops him up and hugs him to his chest. Eskel's skin is slippery with sweat and cum, heat seeping into Rhys. 

Padding up the stairs, Rhys takes Eskel to the bathroom. He slips the jockstrap off of Eskel and climbs into the bathtub with him, giving them a quick shower. The water runs over their bodies and Rhys holds Eskel in his arms.

Clean and dry, they nestle into the bed again, stretched out under the comforter. Rhys curls around Eskel and kisses the back of his neck, wrapping both arms around him.

"You were so good for me. I loved seeing you like this, hearing you ask me for what you want." With a content hum, Rhys traces lazy circles on Eskel's chest, sifting through the hairs there with his fingertips.

***

Eskel stretches tall until he can put his arm around Rhys’ shoulders. Turning into him, Eskel draws Rhys’ face up to his chest, enjoying the comfort of his lover in his arms as he stares over Rhys’ head out the window to the sea. He can’t figure out what came over him. He’s never so desperate, and it isn’t that it wasn’t good. It was great actually. And he was never unsafe. It was just so unlike him to fall apart so quickly and easily.

Humming at Rhys, Eskel doesn’t answer for a long time. He is thinking about how he behaved. Trying to decide if it was good or bad. If it bothers him that he said those things or not. Rhys liked hearing them. That definitely eases some of the desire to cringe at the things Eskel thought, and he’s pretty sure he thought some of those things out loud.

Rhys’ hands sift through Eskel’s chest hair and it is soothing. Very soothing in fact. It reminds Eskel of how cherished he felt, cock snuggled up in silk with Rhys at his back taking a nap.

“I liked ‘em. Whatever they are.” It’s that moment, before the sex started and the games began for real that makes Eskel realize why he lost it so quickly, why he said all those things. “They were frivolous, wasteful, useless for anything but makin’ me feel like a fuckin’ king. One that you adored.”

“I would _never_ wear those for anythin’ but jus’ this. A nap that makes me feel special, an’ gettin’ fucked like you mean it.” Eskel laughs as the reality of it hits him. Those underwear have no purpose in life but to make him feel sexy and get him fucked. And maybe that’s alright. No, that is alright, as long as he decides when to put them on. “We should keep ‘em, if we can clean ‘em that is.”

“I’ve never had somethin’ that had no purpose but to make me feel good ‘bout m’self. An’ they’re so fuckin’ slick on my skin.” It’s the truth. Even the clothes he has here, as amazing as they feel, have a purpose of keeping him clothed. That little scrap of red silk can’t lie about its ability to keep him covered.

Eskel is more settled already. Rhys didn’t judge him for this. Rhys enjoyed it— immensely if Eskel took a guess. And especially with Rhys, Eskel’s words were safe. He can say all the whoreish things that bubble up when he feels like this, and Rhys will gobble them up. Never whisper them to a soul. It is only between them.

***

"I bought them because I thought they would make you look even more delicious than usual. And because I thought they would make you feel good. I'm glad I was right on both counts." Rhys places a soft bite to Eskel's neck, kisses the hollow of his throat.

"It might be frivolous and wasteful, but you need such things. It's good for the soul. Whether it's the orangery back at Corvo, or the jockstrap or the plug. It doesn't hurt anyone if you indulge yourself, least of all yourself."

Reaching up, he buries both hands in Eskel's hair and pulls him into a kiss. "We can of course clean it. And I want to see you in it again. Maybe tie you up, have you wear the plug along with it." Rhys grins, he knew exactly how much Eskel will lose it if they do that, and he wants to see it.

***

Eskel chuckles loudly. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Dipping into another kiss, Eskel lets himself think about it though. Imagine it. How everything about that would be for him. How Rhys would feel high on being _allowed_ to do all those things for him at once. Tied up, with his own toy, and the jockstrap teasing his cock. It definitely has merit.

“I wanna keep it. In the pack of things we use for fun.” The idea that he could just wear it in front of Rhys sometime and immediately get fucked is tantalizing. Eskel isn’t used to asking for sex because he wants it. He usually offers it as a way of pleasing his partner and this is a new way of seeing things. It seems greedy but he doesn’t get the impression Rhys minds at all.

Quite the opposite in fact.

“Ya’know, I felt a little bit loose, bein’ so needy. Some of the things I said. But I think ‘s alright. ‘S jus’ for you. I can be like that for you sometimes. I like that you liked it. That you made me so crazy I jus’ said it.” And when he thinks about it Eskel has to admit he liked the praise for it too. “It felt good when you reminded me you liked me talkin’ like that, but I don’ wanna be reminded ‘m acting like some street boy. That’d be too much.”

Eskel is sure somehow he doesn’t need to tell Rhys this. That Rhys would not ever call him a whore or a slut, but he needs to say it anyway. Mostly to draw a line for himself that it’s not something he wants to be called. Because he almost called himself that when he was going out of his mind. And maybe he would call himself one for Rhys, but it would only be for _Rhys_ and he wouldn’t want to hear it back.

“The whole thing was pretty fuckin’ incredible. The way you manhandled me over the table. Bein’ able to jus’ let you. I was so desperate for you by then, an’ I could feel how much you wanted me.” Eskel rubs his face along Rhys’ cheek, warming his scars and comforting his soul. “That was perfect.”

Somewhere near the bottom of the stairs, Eskel had planned on fucking Rhys into the couch once he’d gotten off. But now he’s too warm and content. Too loose limbed and heavy on the bed. All Eskel wants to do with Rhys now is kiss him languidly until he drifts off. Huff in air at the tiny pricks of Rhys’ fangs on his neck and lips, and sigh into Rhys’ mouth in return.

***

"You'll only ever hear praise from me. I won't stray into anything else with you. As much as I like humiliation with other people, with you I never feel like it. I just want to tell you how amazing you are, and how much I want you. Need you." Rhys places his hand over Eskel's scars, rubs tiny circles into the skin there, massaging the pain away for a while. Raindrops start hitting the window and the roof, a gentle patter that lulls them both to sleep. They lie curled up, limbs tangled and soon the only sound other than the rain is their slow, even breathing.


End file.
